Things Lost in the Crossfire
by JoBethMegAmy. my homegirls
Summary: Constance confronts Hope about being, in Jane's words, a total douchebag re: Maura's kidney.


**A/N**: So Constance is one of my favorite characters on the show (I love aloof mystery, I guess) and I think Hope's storyline is one of the more tragic ones. I mean I know we all hate on her because she doesn't seem very considerate, but in her defense- Paddy told her their baby was dead, then told Constance that Hope had died in childbirth, and basically manipulated them both. I don't blame her for feeling anxious around Maura. (Though a thank-you card for that kidney _would _have been nice.)

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Background noise was something Dr. Martin was exceedingly good at blocking out. In the rare instances where she was shut away in her office, she could typically hear children in the waiting room, the concerned mumblings of parents, the occasional child wailing after getting a shot. When she was as deeply invested in something like the report she was currently going over, it would typically take several knocks—possibly a phone call—to rouse her out of her reverie.

But not today.

At first they had been muffled voices, but their volume and the anger behind one of them in particular finally got Hope's attention.

"Ma'am, Dr. Martin is extremely busy—"

She felt her blood chill when she realized who her secretary must be talking to: "I have emailed Dr. Martin. I have left voice messages. All over the last several days, and she has chosen to ignore them. Not so much as an out-of-office reply! I am not going to be in America much longer, and this is getting over with today!"

"Ma'am, I understand you're upset—"

"You understand absolutely nothing! Is this her office? Is this her door right here?"

"Please, don't j—!"

Even with the warning, Hope jumped when the door banged open. The sound audibly startled several people in the waiting room, and Hope's secretary looked terrified. If looks could kill, Hope was sure that Constance Isles could have destroyed her just by focusing this gaze through the closed door. She might have been holding a rifle for as deathly angry she looked and as deathly scared Hope felt.

"I-I'm sorry, Dr. Martin!" her secretary stammered, trying to tug Constance away by the elbow. "I tried to stop her, to set up an appointment, but she—"

"It's all right, Diane," Hope said, getting to her feet. "This is an appointment that was long in coming."

Diane raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Very. Please return to your desk, everything is fine."

Constance turned her head slightly, looking daggers at the secretary who still had her hand presumptuously on Constance's arm. Diane quickly released her, smoothing the crease she had made in Constance's jacket, and then scurrying back to her desk. Just when Hope had thought maybe now they had reached a less hectic place, Constance stepped forward, and slammed the door sharply behind her. Another bang, another small jolt.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" Constance asked.

"Would you please take a seat?" Hope said, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk.

Utter dislike was etched into every line of Constance's face as she sat herself down, and Hope did the same.

"I gather you're upset with me," Hope said softly.

"I am furious," Constance replied, her tone equally, eerily quiet. "My daughter. _My _daughter goes through _hell _for you and that ungrateful brat of yours, and you can't so much as give her a phone call? She has been on bed rest for weeks, and you couldn't be bothered to take a moment to thank her in any way."

"I—"

"I am not finished, Dr. Martin. Maura doesn't have a lot of people in her life. I would have come here sooner if I hadn't been recovering from my own injuries," she said, indicating a healed scar on her forehead. "Her best friend works long days, and that friend's mother works part-time professionally and part-time watching her grandson. That woman has been able to mother our daughter more than either of us, and that is not acceptable. I don't live in this part of the world, Dr. Martin. Until relatively recently, I admit, my record at keeping in touch with Maura was spotty at best, but—"

"So what was your excuse?" Hope cut in, starting to feel that Constance was acting a bit hypocritical.

The edge in her tone was still there, angry, not defensive. "Maura was not like other children, and I was not like other parents. I had never intended on raising a child."

"I had never intended on losing a baby," Hope said, tears starting to fall against her will. "And I had certainly never intended on finding out, more than thirty years later, that that baby had actually been _alive_ all this time, and wanting to meet me. Don't preach to me, Mrs. Isles. You have no idea what I've been through. And as a matter of fact, I think _I'm _the one who would be justified in being angry at _you_."

"Oh, Dr. Martin, that's rich."

"I would have been there for Maura every step of the way," Hope argued. "I would have been the mother she deserved. Our communication wouldn't have been 'spotty,' it would have been perfect! You had the chance to raise my girl, and look how you wasted it! You neglected her!"

"I raised her the best I knew how," Constance said back. "I raised her the way _I _was raised. My husband and I took care of her. We made sure her needs were met, and that she knew we loved her. Perhaps I didn't write notes to stick in her lunch box when she was in grade school, but Maura knows that I love her. She has _always_ known."

The unwavering certainty in Constance's voice did little to stem Hope's tears. She clasped her hands together, elbows on the desk, and tried not to sob. Ever since finding out Maura had been alive, Hope had been haunted by images of what the girl's childhood might have been like. Had she been put into foster homes? Raised by Paddy? Adopted by some kind, loving family?

Hope had been feverishly jealous, imagining a perfect mother who had been there to send Maura off to school every day, ask her about it over dinner, and tuck her in at night. The mother who had taken prom pictures, applauded proudly at graduations, given advice on relationships when it felt warranted. In reality it seemed that Constance was no June Cleaver, but if she was passionate enough to burst into Hope's office, that still set a pretty high bar.

Cailin had grown up in the shadow of a child's ghost, never feeling she lived up to what Maura might have been. Since learning of Maura's existence, Hope had been cowering behind feelings of inadequacy, certain that she had missed her chance and could never live up to the mother Maura had grown up knowing.

"Please, understand," Hope begged quietly. "I was hurt, and I lashed out. It was a mistake. The way we found out, it was all so—it was all wrong. So wrong. Maura even said to me that she wasn't looking to be my daughter. She said she already h-had a mother. You."

Constance's expression softened, but it was almost imperceptible. Her legs remained crossed, her posture ramrod straight, waiting for Hope to continue.

"You did a wonderful job raising her," Hope said. "She is an incredible woman. Intelligent, capable, sweet..."

"Selfless," Constance added. "Jane told me that Maura wanted to remain an anonymous donor for your other daughter's sake."

"Cailin knows," Hope sighed. "I'm sure she does."

"Jane agrees with you on that, as well. And I don't take credit for how Maura turned out, Dr. Martin. She is and always has been her own person. My husband and I taught by example, I suppose, and perhaps she did pick up some things that way. It was hard to know how to speak to her. Tell me, is there anything you would like to know?"

Hope furrowed her brow, a little confused by the question. Was she getting set up for another put-down? "What did you tell her? I mean, did she ever ask about her biological parents?"

"Frequently. We told her the adoption was closed, and that was that. We told her we felt lucky to have her in our lives."

"And what did Patrick tell you, exactly?"

For the first time, Constance appeared a little humbled. "He told me you had died in childbirth."

Hope's hand flew up to her mouth. "He did. He told you that. How did—how did you even know him? Were you ever—?"

"He attended some of my classes at Harvard. You must have known his father, Dr. Martin. That man didn't trust a soul. It's very likely that he would have killed you, and Maura."

"That's..."

"Listen to me, Dr. Martin," Constance said, leaning over the desk. "The past is behind us. It's an ugly one, full of lies and full of bloodshed. I was shocked to hear you were alive. Shocked. And I was angry at Patrick for lying to me. If I had the clearance to see him in prison, you can be sure I would have confronted him. As it is..." She clenched her teeth for a moment. "I wrote a very vehement letter and asked Detective Rizzoli to read it to him. I suggest it; you might find it therapeutic."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Hope muttered.

"Well before all that, begin with Maura. Begin with the woman who has said for _years _that she... she wanted to know her mother. That wasn't easy for me, Dr. Martin. I'm sure there were more instances where she just didn't mention it, but when she was a child, once or twice, she wept on mother's day. She wept for not knowing who you were, or where you'd gone, or why she wasn't with you."

Those innocent occasions, short and few though they had been, had done nothing but reinforce Constance's long-seeded belief that she was not cut out to be a mother. Surely someone more capable in her place would have been good enough, would have made Maura feel _so _adored and so comfortable that she would never give a second thought to the one who had made her an orphan? But no, she supposed, it was natural for an adopted child to want to know where she came from.

Still. She had never shown it, but it had hurt.

"I always encouraged Maura to be independent," Constance said. "I didn't want to hover, to make her feel like she had to be a certain way or a certain person to please me or make me proud. I thought it went without saying that I was happy for her. But ...I confused independence, self-reliance, for something else. I'm not sure what. All I know is that it isn't right for there to be that gap. That gap where you should have been all her life, and now can fill. You need to be there."

"I can't," Hope whimpered.

"Listen to yourself. Of _course_ you can! Maura Dorothea Isles is yours by blood. She has done a selfless thing for your other daughter's sake, and she has not been properly thanked by you. As her mother and as a halfway decent human being, I am telling you that is unacceptable behavior on your part. I don't like seeing my daughter hurt."

There was silence for a moment, then Hope reached for a tissue and pulled up a new window on her computer. Constance watched her incredulously, ready to throw the computer to the floor if needs be for Hope's attention, but then the doctor murmured,

"Let's see... I think I can reschedule my first appointment for tomorrow. I'll... yes." She started typing a reminder to herself. "I will call Mrs. Levy and ask if she would be able to come in an hour later."

With her mission accomplished, Constance stood up, feeling no need for a hug or so much as a handshake. "Good," she said. "Thank you." She headed for the door, and with her hand on the knob, turned to face Hope once more. "Dr. Martin, be advised. If you're saying this just to get rid of me, I warn you. I have a Jane Rizzoli, and I'm not afraid to use her."

"At ease, Mrs. Isles. I'm..." She took a breath to steady herself. "I'm going to call Maura as soon as you leave. I'd like to be able to do that much in private, at least."

"Of course," Constance said curtly, preparing to leave.

"Just one thing."

"Yes?"

Hope sniffed and tossed her tissue into the trash can. Shaking her head and holding up her hands, she asked, "_Dorothea_? Tell me it's a family name, at least."

Constance smiled for the first time as she opened the door. "Goodbye, Dr. Martin."

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated :)


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